


Two: Hands Off

by Miriam_Heddy



Series: Blond Bombshell [2]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:12:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriam_Heddy/pseuds/Miriam_Heddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments adored. </p>
<p>And if you notice any errors, don't hesitate to email me. Nobody's perfect.</p></blockquote>





	Two: Hands Off

"Alright, Vince!" Geoff leapt forward and grabbed Vince in a back-thumping half-hug that left Vince off-balance and grinning. He was The MaryAnn's drummer. His was the kind of face you saw, then forgot soon after, but he had a body like Iggy Pop, all stringy muscles and no body fat. Beside him, Vince felt chubby. The trouble with getting older was the half a stone that he dropped easily enough in summer seemed to creep back up come autumn to settle on his top half, attracting the other half stone by the end of winter, if he didn't take care.

Geoff had on all black, and Vince momentarily regretted his own choice. He'd foregone wearing yesterday's leather trousers in favour of a pair of black and red plaid drainpipes that were cut low in front and had silver zippered pockets.

The trousers were vintage eighties, and he'd paired them with a thin white t-shirt with rolled up short sleeves. He'd thought of putting a package of fags on one arm, only then he knew people would be bumming fags off him all night, and he'd end up smoking them as well. The low-rise was usually a good thing, only he'd wanted to tuck in his t-shirt, which drew attention to his not so flat tum. The upside to smoking was he lost some of his taste for pudding. But he was fairly sure he'd quit for the last time now, as it was expensive and stupid. On the other hand, he was hungry.

Howard was lucky. He didn't care about fitting into "the fickle winds of fashion." He was just Howard. Howard didn't think himself handsome, and he didn't believe Vince when he told him he was. Vince took some of the blame for that. It just never occurred to him that Howard would take their banter seriously. 

Howard said it was some psychological thing--that, as Vince thought himself attractive and unique and not the type to fall for plain and ordinary, he'd convinced himself Howard wasn't the pink balloon he'd once said he was. Vince didn't expect he was going to win that argument, though he did point out that his prick thought Howard was genius, and who was Howard going to believe--some boring psychologist who probably couldn't even pull, or Vince's own erection? 

Sometimes, Howard complicated things that were really simple. 

He was in his usual mix of browns and creams. He looked soft and comfortable and well retro. He also looked a bit annoyed they had company. For someone whose employment involved selling things to people, Howard was very anti-social. Howard said the correct term was "misanthropic," but Vince preferred his own word, as Howard was "anti-" lots of things. Anti-people, anti-punk, anti-most things Vince liked.

"Alright, Vince." Les, the guitarist, greeted him with less fanfare than did Geoff, giving him a polite nod of the head. Vince nodded back. Les was bigger than Geoff, and any enthusiasm from Les would likely knock him off his feet. Les wore Levis and a blue t-shirt so faded Vince couldn't make out the band name. It had small holes by the collar and looked ancient. It was well cool. He would've said so, but he didn't know Les all that well yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vince saw Howard tense up, as he did when he sensed trouble. The only trouble Vince saw were two blokes who might sneer at Howard and joke about whilst they looked around, but otherwise were harmless.

Then the shop door opened again and Paul T. sauntered in. He was a tall, wirey geezer, with ginger curls cropped short, and long-fingered hands covered in freckles and callouses. He'd done himself up in black leather trousers and jacket. Of the three, he was the most genuinely tough. He had a scar down his right cheek from a knife fight he got at his local over something political that he'd once, whilst they were both hammered, tried to explain. Vince didn't remember the details, except that the argument started with him and another bloke both trying to impress a bird, and that Thatcher was involved (only she wasn't the pretty bird, clearly) and Vince had kind of tuned the Thatcher stuff out, as he had most of that decade, leaving it to Howard to grumble in an anti-Thatcher way that didn't seem to accomplish much besides making him cross.

According to Howard, Vince wasn't so much part of the disaffected youth as he was the ineffective youth. Though he did vote. He just didn't make a thing of it the way Howard did. He didn't care to talk about politics. Most of it was well depressing, a lot of it went over his head, and he probably wasn't one of the youth anymore, so he reckoned they'd be the ones to know how things should be fixed.

Paul T. paced the length of the shop a few times before seeming to notice Howard stood behind the counter, giving him the beady eye.

Then Paul T. did notice him and careened over to him in that loose-limbed, easy way he had, sort of loping across the shop.

And what wasn't nothing a moment ago turnt into weirdness as Howard looked Paul T. up and down and then pursed his lips like he'd tasted something truly awful. 

And Paul T., who'd sort of been smiling, got a new smile on that was proper feral and not at all friendly. 

Then Howard sneered back at him, all narrowed eyes and disdainful mustache.

Vince watched, alarmed, as the two geezers faced off with only the glass counter between them, bristling at each other. Howard had drawn himself up to his full height and somehow made it obvious he was broader than Paul T. and knew it. 

It was proper odd, as Howard was generally more the cowering than fighting type. Vince didn't think any less of him for it, as Howard did step up in front of Vince if he were threatened. Only now, Vince was over at the side of the shop nowhere near them.

Then, all of a sudden, Paul T. spun on his heel, putting his back to Howard, and came over to Vince like Howard had just disappeared. He dropped a long, skinny, leather-clad arm across Vince's shoulders, and drew him closer. Vince let himself be drug along toward the counter, not sure what was happening, only when he looked at Howard, he saw Howard barely cast him a glance. His little eyes were instead narrowed in on Paul T., and Howard was smiling at him with a broad, tense smile that showed Howard's teeth.

Vince was reminded of the monkeys at the zoo when they bared their teeth and looked to be smiling but we're really saying, "Fuck off before I tear your tiny arms off and feed 'em to the tigers."

Only Vince hadn't seen Paul T. do anything, really.

Paul T. leant down, tightening his hold on Vince, and said, "Oi, who's this?"

Vince frowned and shrugged his shoulders, trying to get him to loosen up. Paul T. knew who it was, as Vince had told him all about Howard. Well, not all, but something. He didn't mention the boyfriend thing.

Still, Vince reckoned he'd best introduce them. "Alright, Howard. This is Paul T., bass player. Paul T., this is my mate Howard."

Paul T. smiled at Howard. "Alright, Howard."

Howard didn't so much as blink. Vince didn't need Bollo to tell him he ought to have a bad feeling about this. Vince could feel it in the pit of his stomach, swirling around with the biscuits they'd had for tea. He'd been too wound up to take supper, and now he was glad of that.

"Howard plays bass. He's into Jazz. Also sax and piano and we ought to be leaving soon, right?" The words just slipped out. It was only coming on eight.

"We've got time yet, little man."

Vince opened his mouth to object to Paul T. calling him that, but it was too late. 

Howard came out from behind the counter, and got right up in front of Paul T., leaving Vince sandwiched between them, unable to do much beside stand there like a little tit. Paul T. was about two inches taller than Howard--more with his boots on. But Howard didn't seem to notice or care, as he moved to close what little space was between them, pushing Vince further up against Paul T., till he got pushed forward into Howard.

At last, Paul T. shifted his stance, and Vince ducked his head and was able to slip out of the way.

He meant to go stand somewhere to the side of the two, but instinct sent him back behind the counter, which seemed safe enough until Paul T. said, "Vince, this shop's shite."

"Is it? Thought it was you I smelt. Eau d'Wazzock," Howard said, his voice coming out low and Northern, as it did when he was cross. He'd stopped smiling, and his mouth was now set in a thin line, all but hidden beneath his mustache.

The two men glared at each other, hackles up, hands clenched into fists. Vince could see Paul T. had a blade in his back pocket, likely not just for show. Howard kept a piece of wood behind the counter with some nails hammered into it, only he'd never actually used it on anyone.

Then, all of a sudden, Paul T. took a step back and laughed. "Right, Vince, your mate's alright."

Some of the tension seemed to ease a bit as Paul T. backed off. Vince took a breath and nodded, looking over at Howard, but Howard had only relaxed a little. His large hands were in fists at his side, and Vince realised with a start that Howard might be about to hit someone. He'd never done that before, except for that one time he hit Mrs. Gideon, blacking out both her eyes. But that was it. He was usually careful with his temper, especially since then.

Vince came out from behind the counter and waited, feeling it was not all over but unsure how to stop it.

Then Paul T. took a step toward Vince and his long arm shot out to stick his fingers in Vince's hair, causing him to duck his head again and step away, out of reach. Paul T. Moved closer again, and this time he grabbed the back collar of Vince's t-shirt, holding him there. "Oi, Howard, what you think of 'is 'air?" Blond suits 'im, dunnit?"

"Think he looks like a sherbet lemon." Howard hadn't even bothered to look at him.

"Oi! Sod off." Vince pulled away from Paul T., hearing his shirt rip.

Paul T. laughed again, thinking it brilliant.

Howard stepped toward Vince and grinned, like it was a joke. Vince reckoned he took the piss out of Howard often enough, he might be due for it. And he could take it. Only it seemed a bit much.

Then Howard reached out, grabbed hold of Vince's hair on top, and gave it a not-so-gentle tug before letting go. "Blond? This? No, mate. This here's yellow. Yellow, candyfloss hair. Big, blue eyes. Looks like a sodding Gonk Troll."

Paul T. barked out a laugh and bent over double, like it was the funniest shite he'd ever heard. 

Vince clenched his hands into fists, but couldn't think who he should hit first. That was well over the line. Well over. The line was somewhere south of Brighton, underwater.

Then Howard decided it for him, as his big hand grabbed the bottom hem of Vince's white t-shirt, wrenching it upward to expose his tits. "Good ones have a gem in the middle. Must've come off him. Can't play rough with the little ones or they break, yeah?"

This time, all three berks laughed, though Howard only grinned, fiercely, coldly, the expression not touching his eyes.

Howard dropped Vince's shirt and Vince felt his face go scarlet and hot. 

He swung a right hook toward Howard's face with his whole body weight behind it, with enough force to break his nose. Only, at the last second, he opened his hand, perhaps because it was Howard. 

But Howard was somehow quicker than Vince, managing to grab hold of his wrist before he made proper contact, so that it was Vince's own momentum that had him twisting his wrist painfully in Howard's grip as his body slammed into Howard, not hurting him in the slightest. 

Howard's hand was big enough his fingers only loosely round encircled Vince's hand as he forced Vince's arm down to his side, keeping hold of him, though not so tightly that it hurt. Vince still winced, and it took all his self-control to keep from seeing if Howard could so easily stop a sharp-heeled boot coming down on his soft, suede shoe.

"Let. Go." Vince kept his voice soft, but hard, barely moving his lips.

Howard took a few seconds to respond, but at last opened his hand and let go of Vince's wrist.

Everyone stood still a moment, then Paul T. nodded at Les and Geoff. Les immediately headed for the door, but Geoff paused to give Howard a disdainful look before offering Vince a nod. Paul T. followed them out, ignoring the both of them.

Vince was breathing hard and his heart was beating so hard he thought he might be dying. He doubled over, putting his hands on his thighs until his head started to spin. He stood up slowly, blinking at the door. His eyes stung, and his throat felt too tight to speak.

It was several more minutes before time seemed to move forward again, and that was only because Naboo's voice sounded from upstairs, followed by Bollo. Both were shouting but Vince couldn't make out anything but curses coming from either of them. 

But the sound was enough to get Vince moving again and made Howard look up toward the stairs.

"I'll close up," Vince said, softly, not looking at him directly for fear he might try hitting him again.

He heard Howard clomp upstairs.

It seemed the best option. It would allow Geoff and Les and Paul T. to get clear of the area before Vince took off somewhere.

He didn't know yet where he was going, yet. There was no chance now of his joining The MaryAnns. He'd likely still be on speaking terms with Geoff, though not Les. And Paul T. was now someone he'd have to keep it cool around, else risk Paul T. spreading the story.

He wasn't at all sure when he'd be speaking to Howard again. He felt several months' worth of angry packed up into a dense spot in his belly, but he knew from experience he'd have a difficult time holding onto that. It was too wearing, being that angry, and it didn't make him feel any better. Though hitting Howard--that would be satisfying, as he fully deserved it. Vince thought he'd use his fist, and wouldn't even feel bad about it.

Vince hurried through the closing up routine, but took care with the till and locking up. Once, he went back to that same spot and noticed the way one of Naboo's spotlights made a yellow circle on the floor. He must've been standing directly under it when Howard opened his gob. He held out his hand under the light, seeing that even it was tinged yellow.

He sighed. It was no bloody excuse. Said in private, with only him and Howard there, Vince might've found it a bit of a laugh. And yeah, he'd taken the piss out of Howard in the past, only that was before things had changed between them, and this felt entirely different. This made him feel ill. Dirty.

He forced himself to keep his eyes off the stairs, and only looked backward once, though there was nothing to see from the street but that the lights were on upstairs, as they would be this early. He tried not to think of Howard, though, as he rubbed his sore wrist with his other hand, it was hard to think about anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments adored. 
> 
> And if you notice any errors, don't hesitate to email me. Nobody's perfect.


End file.
